Glenn begins to fire his gun, filling the cab with a deafening noise.
I fumble with the door handle and climb out, keeping low. Jillian slides out after me.
“Are you out?” yells Glenn.
“Clear.”
“He’s lying down in the grass. I think I may have got him.”
“Or he’s just taking up a sniper’s position,” Jillian replies.
“Maybe. I’m going to fire again. When I do, head deep into the woods.”
I have a bad feeling about that. The forest is his home turf, but I don’t have a better idea.
“Go!” Glenn shouts, then starts shooting.
Jillian and I start through the woods, but I freeze the moment Glenn’s shooting stops.
“What is it?” asks Jillian.
We’re about ten feet away from the truck. I can see patches of grass beyond the tree trunks. Joe is nowhere to be seen.
“Other way!” I yank her by the arm. “He’s already in here!”
We race around the truck, putting it between us and the forest, and climb up the hill toward the highway.
I look back and see the tip of Glenn’s pistol above the dashboard.
I yell, “He’s in the trees, coming up behind you!”
Glenn pops his head up and spots us running toward the road. Without hesitating, he crawls through the open windshield, rolls across the hood, and chases after us.
I see him stop and look back at Seward, afraid to leave him.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Rifle fire emerges from the woods, and bullets ricochet off the truck.
“RUN!” I scream.
Jillian is pulling at my arm, trying to get me to move as well.
We hop over the guardrail as bullets puncture it, making a loud metal twang. Glenn hits the side of the hill, twists around, and returns fires back in the same direction the shots originated.
The rifle fire comes to a halt, and he picks himself up and races over the top of the rise, catching up to Jillian and me.
We run to the ambulance lying on its passenger side. The lights are still flashing and the back wheels are spinning, having crashed only moments ago.
The paramedic is bent over the passenger side door, getting to his knees.
We pull him to the far side of the vehicle, away from the forest.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think.”
I point down the road. “Then take her and run.”
“No,” Jillian says flatly. She turns to the paramedic. “Go!”
Already spooked by the gunfire, he breaks off into a sprint.
Behind us, red and blue lights flash as a Hudson Creek police cruiser comes to a skidding halt. An older cop jumps out of the driver’s seat. “What’s going on?”
“Shooter in the woods!” says Glenn.
The cop starts to stride toward us, exposed to the trees.
“Stay back!” yells Glenn.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The officer’s shoulder is ripped open, and he drops to the ground, screaming.
“Help me get him!” I say to Glenn, then hunch over and hurry toward the fallen man.
“Let’s take him to the car and use it to get out of here,” replies Jillian.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
A burst of automatic fire sprays into the cruiser, puncturing the radiator and sending up a cloud of steam.
“Shit! He has us pinned!” says Glenn. “I’m going to fire. You grab him and bring him to the ambulance.”
Glenn fires his gun twice, then ducks behind the cruiser, using it as a shield.
Jillian helps me drag the downed cop to the inside of the ambulance. He valiantly tries to stifle his screams as we lift him across the sideways door.
I start searching through the medical supplies all over the floor—which was once a wall—for some bandages, find them, and start wrapping the man’s shoulder wound. It’s a mess.
Through the back window, I spot Glenn climbing into the police cruiser and taking out the shotgun.
He moves toward the hood and puts a finger to his lips when he sees us watching. He points to his eyes then toward the back of us.
Joe has changed positions again and is sneaking up behind where we’re hiding.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
VALIANT
My impression of Glenn has crystallized in these moments. When I first met him, I thought he was a hard-ass, and I resented the way he manipulated me into spilling my guts, embarrassing me with my own na?veté. He knew my intelligence but used it against me in some kind of judo move. For all my theoretical smarts, his knowledge came from talking to real people all day long, spotting the liars and thieves among them.
He’s been my antagonist, but in the last few minutes he’s put his own life on the line several times to protect Jillian and me.
Glenn is checking the shotgun he borrowed from the police cruiser and getting ready for an assault from Joe.
Right now Glenn has the ambulance and the car to block a retreat and could make a run for it and abandon us. He won’t. He’s not even trying to get to our hiding space, where we have more protection from the assault rifle.
He might be able to make a better last stand from here, but his position is better suited for firing at Joe if he comes at us.
It’s a selfless thing Glenn is doing. He’ll get the better shot from there, but it will probably be his only one.
He catches me staring at him. He gives Jillian a small nod, then locks eyes with me.
Protect her.
It’s primal. It’s chauvinistic. It’s what we’re biologically programmed to do—well, the best of us.
I turn my attention to our patient. He’s leaning against the wall, grasping his arm below the wound.
I notice for the first time this ambulance is actually a mobile medical center, with refrigerated storage and a mini pharmacy.
“How are you doing, Sergeant Bryant?”
“Wonderful,” he groans. “I had the night off.”
I slide open a panel and find the hard stuff. “Want something for the pain?”
“God, yes.”
I give him a shot of morphine, and his face slackens.
“Is that a good idea?” Jillian whispers to me.
“He was still in shock. He was a minute or two away from screaming his lungs out. He lost a lot of his shoulder.”
I’m afraid to try to redress the wound without a proper surgical environment. If I move the bandage, I risk uncorking whatever is keeping him from bleeding out. Instead, I put another layer over his shoulder, making sure there’s plenty of pressure.
The first bandages I used had a built-in clotting agent and seem to be working pretty well.
To be on the safe side, I get a syringe of clotting medication ready, as well as a bag of synthetic blood in case Bryant loses too much of his own. Synthetic isn’t meant to replace your blood—it just dilutes it better than straight saline, helping you maintain blood pressure.
“What are we going to do?” asks Jillian.
“Glenn called for backup. I’m sure help is coming.”
We’re both well aware that Joe is close by and will be here before any help.
Glenn is creeping toward the front of the cruiser. He has the shotgun trained on a point off to our right.
BOOM! He fires at something.
Glenn moves to the other side of the hood, then shoots again. BOOM!
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Bullets fire into the police car, making ice-pick clangs as they hit.
Glenn lurches forward and groans loudly. A bullet hit him in his side.
I rush toward the back of the ambulance to help.
“Stay back!” he snarls through gritted teeth, then pumps the shotgun.
He bounces up and fires another volley. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
BANG! BANG! BANG! His chest is covered in red blossoms, and he falls to the ground.
I leap out of the ambulance and pick up his shotgun. When I try to run back to the door, my leg collapses under me, and even before I hit the road I know I’ve been shot.
My chin hits first, splitting open on the rough asphalt.
When I look up through hazy eyes, I get my first view of him twenty yards away.
My initial reaction isn’t terror or shock.
It’s awe.
Joe is enormous. He’s clad in body armor from head to toe, and his face mask is a metal shield with narrow slits and war paint. Across his Kevlar chest is a necklace of bear claws.